Thursday, November 22, 2007

Seaside in November

By the Seaside

William Wordsworth

THE sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest, And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest; Air slumbers--wave with wave no longer strives, Only a heaving of the deep survives, A tell-tale motion! soon will it be laid, And by the tide alone the water swayed. Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild Of light with shade in beauty reconciled-- Such is the prospect far as sight can range, The soothing recompence, the welcome change. .....